Meteorology
by netkerosene
Summary: We'll have this argument twelve times a day until this heatwave dies. Who could ask for anything more?


The magical peoples of the British Isles may be some of the most extraordinary inhabitants of this green and pleasant land; witches and wizards they may be, but first and foremost, they are British witches and wizards, and like all good Britons, their foremost pleasure is to complain, preferably about the weather.

It drives Fleur nuts.

I'm not entirely sure how we started seeing each other. When I returned to England, it wasn't my intention to end up in the arms of a girl who would have been 10 when I left.

But, and forgive me if I my prose gets a little purple here, Fleur is one of those rare girls who makes the human race worth running. It's not a Veela thing. Since Fleur and I got involved, I've met more part and full-blooded Veelas than my wildest dreams ever allowed for, but Veela blood comes second to being female, and there are always women you wouldn't sic on your worst enemy, no matter how fantastic they look. Then, there are those girls who simper and fawn. Always a difficult one, your fawner, because she's probably deranged and will most likely try and hunt you down when you endeavor to get away.

However, I don't think Fleur knows how to fawn. You can see it in her eyes, the look of bored disdain, when a cousin or a friend starts to simper. She's a tremendous flirt, coquettish when the mood takes her, but flattery for the sake of flattery is beneath her. She's honest about it, won't laugh if your jokes aren't funny, and makes no apologies for being as sharp as she is.

By no stretch of the imagination is she perfect, though. She'll never back down in an argument, no matter how politically efficacious it might be. Combined with her Gallic temper and, quite frankly, an unhealthy dose of upper class Veela self-importance, she can be hell to live with.

You do get the best tables in restaurants though.

Witness exhibit A, the perpetual meteorological argument.

I will plead guilty to starting the majority of these arguments, if only by accident. I can't help but complain about the weather.

On this particular occasion, I was draped across Fleur's hideously expensive sofa in her palatial Kensington flat as provided by Grand-mere. I suspect I looked more pitiable than alluring, a mad dog in the midday sun.

"It's too hot."

Fleur looked at me, exasperation evident in her eyes.

"It's barely thirty-five degrees. People from all over ze world, zey would consider zis pleasantly warm."

"Bully for them. It's still too hot."

She near growls at me as she curls up on a wingback chair, all feline grace and irritated power, dressed solely in one of my shirts.

"It is summer, so of course it is hot. Ze sun, she is shining down on you. Soon, ze weather gods of zese cold and wet islands, zey will return from their holiday and once more you will be able to complain of too much rain."

"But right now, I'm complaining about the sun."

I really should learn when to stop talking.

"So I noticed." She turned her head to look away, schooling her beautiful features into a supercilious gaze, but not before I see the smile playing on her lips.

I love my adopted country, but sometimes, its people make me want to scream.

After the Triwizard, everything moved so fast. I was still in shock from the events of the last Task when I went back home. I had been the first champion to fall - Crucio from Mr. Crouch via Victor Krum. However, my early exit was blessed compared to poor Cedric Diggory. He was a good man. Two days after the end of the Tournament, Victor and I were both called to Dumbledore's office, where he explained the situation, and invited us both to join the Order. Naturally, we both accepted. Within a week of leaving Hogwarts, I had a job offer in Gringotts. Before that week was out, I was back in England. Grand-mere had given me the keys to her London flat and would organize for the majority of my larger belongings to be shipped across to me. I didn't even have time to unpack the one suitcase I'd brought with me when Order members arrived to take me to my first meeting. I started work in the International Business Banking Bureau the next day. I was back in London in time for Cedric's funeral.

I'd like to say I dealt with all this with grace and ease. Unfortunately, I would be lying. Bill became a rock for me. He was ostensibly helping me with my English, as directed by the Order, but he was also my first friend in London. I will not deny that I was interested in him, but as Mere has left me in no doubt, he's a little old for me. But somehow, wilted sandwiches and warm water on Elysian Common at lunchtime became wonderful dinners at La Cockatrice or late suppers in front of Grand-mere's television watching Muggle comedy. We didn't mean to start sleeping with one another. It just happened.

Ai, listen to me. I sound like a lovesick child. I do love him, though. I love him with all my heart, but he's still infuriating. He's overconfident and cocky. When he's around Charlie, it's like they're both eight. Gabrielle is more mature than the pair of them. He rails against the promotion that brought him to London and to me. It upsetting, but he doesn't notice. He's as sensitive as a Molotov cocktail, and he whinges constantly about the weather. He lived in Egypt for eight years, but he somehow cannot cope with an English heat wave.

One particular time, Bill had stayed at my flat rather than go to his. He was draped over my sofa, hair spilling loose over one arm, a leg thrown over the other. Pale sunlight crept through the half-drawn blinds, illuminating only him. So beautiful. So at ease. So mine.

And then he spoke and broke the spell.

"It's too hot."

So close to a perfect moment, and he complains. Bien.

"Bill. It's barely thirty five degrees. People from all over ze world, zey would consider zis pleasantly warm."

"Bully for them. It's still too hot."

I've wondered if he's actually this obtuse, or if it's some sort of an act. Pondering on it, as I settle myself into a chair, he must be trying to try my patience. No one is this dense.

"It is summer. Of course it is hot. Ze sun, she shines for you. Soon, ze weather gods of these godforsaken place, zey will notice, and once more you will be able to complain of too much rain."

"But right now, I'm complaining about the sun." He gives me a pitiful look, puppy eyes and a pout, and I steel myself against it. If I give into him now, he'll never stop.

"So I noticed."

I turn away, an uncontrollable smile on my face. We'll have this argument twelve times a day until this heat wave dies. Who could ask for anything more?


End file.
